Project Eden

Project Eden

E. C. Cardey

Project Eden

Copyright © 2024 by E. C. Cardey

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-1-998482-03-0 (Hardcover)

978-1-998482-02-3 (Paperback)

978-1-998482-04-7 (eBook)

Table of Contents

Awake

ADAM and EVE

Boat

Land

Water

Home

Fire

Strangers

ADAM-001

Lost

Ark

Empty

Mud

Hunt

Hope

Home II

Winter

Grow

For my girls,

Caitlin, Evelyn and Addison

Awake

The first feeling was cold. An aching cold that seemed to be working its way inwards. Worst in the fingers and toes, exposed and delicate. Delicate: not a word that would usually come to mind, but there it was. Breathing hurt; there was pressure like someone sitting on his chest or being dunked underwater for that bit too long. Sucking in the air felt blissfully good but sharp and painful.

Eyes, he had those, that much he knew. He moved them around beneath their lids but opening them seemed too much. Everything was too much.

Fingers and toes, move them, you can do that, and breathe. Remember to breathe. You’ve got this.

Working through the ache, he moved carefully and slowly, bit by bit. The pain got worse as it travelled through his muscles, like they’d been asleep. Pins and needles followed the pain and a tingling numbness.

Was that good?

His mouth didn’t work yet, and his eyes were still too heavy. The pins and needles faded in turn, and he was cold again, but it was different now. It still hurt but was reduced to a dull ache. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, cold and heavy, waiting for movement to return. His lips parted, cracking as the skin stretched. He tried to wet them with his tongue, but that, too, was dry and heavy. He tried to speak, and a strange croak escaped his throat.

There was a faint sense of panic lurking in his mind, trying to burst forward, force action and struggle, but slowing his breathing, he pushed the instinct away. Patience was key here. Feeling and mobility were returning—no point hurting himself more, or risk putting himself in danger until he could gauge where he was.

Patience, he repeated to himself. Just breathe.

Time slipped away, though whether it was minutes or hours, he couldn’t tell. He may have slept, but again, he couldn’t be sure. There was a light beyond his eyelids now. Though he still couldn’t open them, there was a sense of brightness there. Was it morning? Or were his eyes simply seeing what was there all along?

He tried his voice again.

Hello? it rasped, a harsh whisper. He tried again, Hello?

There was a sound, like a grunt, followed by a gasp, and he knew he wasn’t alone. He could hear fast breathing coming from somewhere to his left and a scrabbling of frantic movements. There was a second of fear, of what or who was there beside him, but perhaps they were just like him: cold and hurting, unable to move and probably scared.

‘It’s okay, he croaked. It wasn’t okay; nothing about this was okay. Everything felt foreign and painful, and, God, the cold. But you don’t say that to the mystery person panicking beside you; you tell them, It will be okay."

Just breathe, he tried to calm his voice, to make it less broken and strained. Each word came slightly quieter than the last. I can’t see you or move, but I’m here. It’s okay. That was all he could manage to say, his voice fading to nothing.

There was a whimper and a cough, and then the gasping breaths slowed. In and out, intentional, and meditative. He waited, focusing on his own breathing and putting his energy into opening his eyes. If he could only see where he was.

He searched his thoughts, trying to find a solid memory, something to explain where he was or what led to this point, but there was nothing but muddled echoes of thoughts, grey and blurred. Like looking into the dark through a dirty window. Gradually, his eyelids parted, revealing more grey, but formed now. A dome, panelled, and opaque. Light filtered through, but what was beyond it remained unknown.

Ever so slowly, he began to turn his head towards the person beside him. It was an achingly slow process. He was incredibly stiff as if his body had forgotten how to move.

How long have I been here? he wondered, still trying to find a solid memory. Finally, his head completed its rotation to the left, and through bleary eyes, he made out the silhouette of a woman.

*     *     *

On the other side of the domed space, the woman fought to control her panic. She couldn’t move, her whole body hurt, and there was a cold that permeated every cell.

Like ice, the thought came to the surface, like being submerged in ice.

She had a memory, broken and hazy but persistent: a man lying on a metal slab, rigid and pale, with surgical incisions across his abdomen and chest. Another one from the illegal organ trade, a voice had said, covering the body. It’s happening more now. That’s the third this week.

Oh, fuck, she thought, the panic rising, I’m going to die. They’ve taken my kidneys and left me here, and I’m going to die and be put on a slab in the morgue for some stranger to mark me off the pop. list and throw me in the incinerator. Oh fuck, oh god, this can’t be happening.

She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. If she could just move, and get help, maybe she had a chance, maybe she would live.

With your organs chopped out? a bitter voice in her head asked. You’re just going to get up and walk away from this with your belly cut open and your insides missing?

Despair settled into her chest. She felt hot tears burning from the corners of her eyes. She was dead, or at least dying, alone and—

Hello? The cracked voice sounded from nearby, raspy and quiet. It came again, Hello?

She gasped, the sudden rush of air making her choke. She wasn’t alone; someone was with her. She tried to cry out for help, but nothing came out. She tried to move but all she managed was a slight shift in her limbs. She tried again, her throat burning from the attempt, but still no sound.

She coughed as the quiet voice continued, It’s okay. Just breathe.

She followed the instruction and focussed solely on her breathing. Slowly, counting to four on the inhale, then again on the exhale. In through the nose, she reminded herself, out through the mouth. Breathe.

There was more whispering, but she couldn’t make it out, and then it trailed off. As she breathed, she began to realise she didn’t hurt the way she did before. There was still the cold and an aching stiffness, but it wasn’t the same as the stabbing pain she’d had on first regaining consciousness. Was she still dying? Or was this something else?

She began investigating the feelings through her body; she could wriggle her toes and clench her fists. She tried moving her body in different ways, and though it felt odd, it definitely didn’t feel like it did before.

She didn’t realise she’d opened her eyes at first until she blinked them after staring too long. She was inside something. It seemed small, grey and domed, with light filtering through. She didn’t remember how she got here, but at least she wasn’t in an ice bath without her kidneys. That was enough of a relief that her current predicament was beginning to feel manageable.

It was time to try and move; she pulled her feet towards her, lifting her knees, then tipped them to the right, using the gentle momentum to help her roll the rest of her body onto her side. Just that motion left her exhausted again, and she lay still in that foetal position with her forehead pressed to her hands, resting and regaining the energy to lift her face and look around. When she did, she saw a man sitting on the ground beside her, about a metre away. Hunched over, with a flop of light hair covering his face. He was naked.

She glanced down at her own body and flinched; she, too, was completely bare. She rolled her hips a bit further and slid her arm back towards her body, covering herself. When she looked up again, the man was turning towards her as if in slow motion, every movement drawn out. He blinked at her, and then his mouth twitched like he was trying to smile.

Hello, he croaked, then coughed. It was the voice from before.

She attempted a reply, but nothing came out. She tried again and managed a slight rasp. Perhaps if she had something to drink, wet her throat a little. At the thought, an unimaginable thirst came over her. Suddenly, water was all she could think of. Pushing herself upright, forgetting to cover herself, she cast her eyes around the space, looking for anything to quench this thirst.

She looked toward the end of where they lay; it was a padded layer fused to the floor, just large enough for a person to lie flat. There was an indentation marking the shape of her body. How long have I been here? How long—

She shook her head to clear the jumble of thoughts. Focus, she reminded herself as she looked beyond her feet. There lay several objects wrapped in a sealed synthetic material. Two large rectangles took up the most space. Beside them were two long bulky packages and then several identical-shaped parcels in a smaller size. At the end were five plastic containers: rectangular with a handle and a small, lidded spout. Condensation dripped down the side as whatever was inside them thawed.

Water, she thought desperately as she crawled towards them, barely registering the strange slimy substance surrounding where she lay. She only had eyes for whatever lay inside the plastic canisters. They were lashed to the floor, along with the other items, which seemed odd; it wasn’t as if they were going anywhere. She released the thick straps and dragged forward the nearest heavy can.

What are you doing? croaked the man as she clawed at the lid, unable to get a secure grip. He had not moved from where he sat, legs still stretched out before him.

She squinted at him, wondering if he was more than physically slow, and mimed lifting a cup to her lips.

How do you know it’s safe? he asked, blinking slowly.

She shrugged at him, frustrated at being unable to communicate but more frustrated at the stupid lid on the stupid water. It had to be water. She glared at it and hit the top of the canister with her fist, flinching as a sharp pain from the contact shot through her hand. Calm down, she scolded herself. Take another look. There it was: a slight tab protruding beneath the cap. She plucked at it with fingers that weren’t quite doing what they ought to, releasing it from its hold on the jerry can.

The coil came away, and she was able to open the lid. Crouching low, she tipped the can towards her, drinking gratefully, her nakedness forgotten as she gulped the icy water. Thirst quenched, she felt relatively human again. She tried her voice, but barely a rasp escaped. She turned to the man, who stared hungrily at the water. He clearly wasn’t going to get to it without help. That was okay; she couldn’t talk, but she could help this man. She glanced down at her bare skin a moment, considering covering herself, but shrugged. They’re just bodies, after all. And at least she had her kidneys.

Dragging the heavy can across the floor, leaving a trail of condensation. She lifted it over the gel substance that surrounded the man and onto the mat he sat on. That effort alone had her muscles burning. There was no way she could lift the can again, so she beckoned to him to lean down to the water, which he did, painfully slow.

Thank you, he croaked upon sitting up.

She nodded and replaced the lid on the drink.

Who are you? he asked, peering into her face as though he thought he might already know the answer. How could he, though, when she didn’t know the answer herself?

She searched her mind for something that might tell her who she was or how she had come to be here in this strange domed room. But there was nothing. When she strained her mind, she was only taken back to the memory of the man on the metal slab, the sheet being pulled over his greying face and a chemical smell that burned her eyes. She shook her head, as much to clear the unpleasant thoughts as to say she didn’t know.

I’m not sure, either, the man told her. He smiled, his mouth pulling to the side, with a gentle understanding. He brought his hand up to his face and pushed his hair back through his fingers. It was interesting to watch, as if he’d been slowed down somehow. Yet, the motions seemed natural, like he did it a hundred times a day and didn’t even know he was taking an age to complete it. Do you know where we are? How we got here?

She shook her head again. Her thoughts were too loud and too fast, wanting to burst out through a voice that wasn’t there. She felt a sense of overwhelm bubbling in her chest. A panic was stirring, and she didn’t feel ready to deal with it, not here in this place where there were more questions than answers.

The man with the kind face watched her as her eyes flicked around the room. There was a twitchiness in her movements like she was trying to hold herself in. She chewed a lip, cracking the dry skin and then wincing.

Do you think, he said, trying to divert her attention, there might be clothes in one of those?

Her eyes steadied and locked on his for a moment, then she nodded. She was back. With a task to do, she crawled over to the sealed black lumps against the side of the dome. Reaching for the smaller ones, she ran her fingers over them, searching for an opening or somewhere to dig her fingers into to create one. Suddenly, she paused, looking down. There was writing on her arm. A tattoo? She didn’t recall having a tattoo, but then again, she didn’t recall much of anything.

EVE-053 was printed onto her skin in bold black ink. Eve. Was that her name? It didn’t feel like her name, but she supposed a name didn’t really feel like anything if you didn’t know it was yours. She rubbed at the writing, which looked to have been there a while, and held it up to the man.

Eve? he read, squinting. Is that your name? What does the ‘53’ mean?

She just shrugged, unable to respond even if she had known the answer. She pointed to his arm, where a matching ADAM-053 was inscribed on his skin. She mouthed to him, Are you Adam?

He stared at it a moment, having not noticed it until now, then slowly shook his head. I don’t know, he replied. I don’t think I feel like an ‘Adam’ . . . he trailed off, confused by her grin. Was she laughing at him?

She held her hands to her chest, shaking her head, and mouthed words too fast for him to catch. You don’t feel like ‘Eve’? he asked, trying to understand. Watching her hand gestures brought his attention back to the fact that they were both still unclothed. He quickly averted his eyes, blushing.

She raised her eyebrows, intrigued by his modesty, half-expecting him to ogle her rather than turn away. Shrugging it off, the woman returned to exploring the sealed cases. She moved on from the small ones to the misshapen oblongs beside them. There! She dug her fingers into a sleeve on the front of the packaging, removing a small, curved blade. Like for cutting sutures, she realised, though she wasn’t sure how she knew. Worry about that later, she told herself, digging the blade into the thick plastic. There was a quiet hissing as air was sucked into the vacuum within.

Inside was a large backpack, long with pockets all over its exterior and thick padded straps. ADAM-053 was embroidered on the front. At the top was a rolled item, possibly a sleeping bag or bedroll of some kind. Impatient to find her own pack, she slid the first one across to ‘Not Adam,’ who began opening it, pulling out solid black boots and grey coveralls.

She turned back to her task, carefully cutting open the second parcel to reveal another pack. EVE-053 was emblazoned on the front in thick black stitching. She glared at the writing, taunted by it, frustrated that everything insisted on calling her that when she was almost certain she was, in fact, ‘Not Eve.’ Blowing out an exasperated breath, she began dressing. There was underwear—basic briefs and a crop style bra—and thick socks, and the same grey coveralls that had been provided to ‘Not Adam,’ all conveniently in her size. There were all sorts of other items in the pack: a compass, a water flask, and a pocket knife. There was a spare set of underwear, for which she was relieved, again in her size. Rope and, well, she wasn’t sure what this other thing was; it was like a blunt key attached by a short chain to a little stone rectangle. She put it away and continued her investigation.

What she was really looking for wasn’t there—food. Her stomach growled loudly, insisting it be fed. She upended the remaining contents of the pack, just in case there was something hidden in a pocket, but no, there wasn’t. She had almost forgotten Not Adam’s presence until he spoke, startling her.

Let’s check these other ones, he said, indicating the remaining parcels, both the very large and the rather small.

Not Eve—as she had begun to refer to herself—passed Not Adam the small blade from the first parcel, picking up the second one herself. She shuffled on her knees across to the large rectangular shapes while he, still slow, reached for the first of the small, boxed shapes. She ripped off the thick black covering on a bulky rectangular trunk secured with heavy latches. Peeling away the remaining covering, she tugged upwards on the latch, releasing the secondary clasp underneath. Inside, she found large, sharp-looking tools: axes, saws, and metal receptacles that she thought might be for cooking.

She felt a nudge and looked over to see the man holding out a small item. The familiar sight set her stomach screaming as she tore off the wrapper and sunk her teeth into the pale bar. She flinched, finding it tough, her teeth sliding off. Trying for a smaller bite, she chewed slowly, the bland substance jaw-achingly dense.

They ate in silence. Finally dressed and satiated, they began to scrutinise their surroundings. The greyish dome of hexagonal panels arched over them, just high enough that the woman’s head brushed its highest point while the man had to duck. It was as though colour had been sucked out of their tiny existence: grey clothes, grey walls, grey floor, grey bars of food, and grey cargo trunks. There was no door, just curved walls all around.

Now that the adrenaline of their awakening had worn off, they both became once again aware of their aching bodies and a slow, persistent weariness creeping up on them. It didn’t seem like they were going anywhere, and although she knew she should be troubled by their captivity, the motivation to escape was absent. All she wanted was sleep.

Still unable to speak, the woman simply began rolling out her sleeping bag in the place she had woken up. The ring of gel had almost completely evaporated, but she still took care to avoid the sticky substance. About to lie down, she looked over at the man who was still fumbling with the clips holding his sleeping bag firmly to his backpack. Crawling over, she indicated for him to move back and deftly unfastened the bag and unfurled it across the floor.

Thank you, he said wearily and began his slow journey to his bed.

He peeled back the top layer, revealing a padded base. At least it looked quite comfortable. He looked up to say as much to the woman but found her already fast asleep. Shrugging to himself, he lay down and quickly drifted off.

*     *     *

Listen to me very carefully, you bitch, the man said, leaning over her, his hand planted on the wall above her head. No one is going to believe you. No one. I will destroy you. You will never see a living patient for the rest of your career. He leaned in closer still as he hissed, Do you hear me, bitch? You’re finished.

He paused, waiting for her to argue. He wanted a fight; he likes it when they fight.

Yes, Doctor, she said straight-faced, pushing away the tightness in her chest.

He sneered and opened his mouth, ready to attack, but was interrupted.

Sage? a gentle voice asked from behind the man. You okay?

She leaned around him, looking into the worried face of Amethyst. Her heart bubbled with relief. This girl was always in the right place at the right time or every time Sage was getting herself into trouble.

Yeah, Amie, I’m fine. She smiled, an actual genuine smile for her best friend. The ‘Good Doctor’ here was just leaving. She looked him in the eyes, daring him to argue. Weren’t you?

He pushed himself off the wall and stalked away without a word.

What was that about? Amie demanded, taking Sage’s hand and leading her away.

Sage shook her head. I’ll tell you everything tonight. Fill me in on the morning shift. What have I got to look forward to?

ADAM and EVE

The floor lurched. Sage sat bolt upright, shaken from her dream. What the hell was that? she asked herself, looking around. The man was slowly pushing himself upright from his sleeping bag. Had he felt it, too? There was a pause, and then the world tipped, and they dropped, rocking as they came to an abrupt stop.

The confusion hung in the air as they both tried to make sense of the situation. What was going on? Again, they tipped, feeling their stomachs drop as they plunged downward, and then stopped again. It was darker now, and there was an intense rushing noise, building to a roar whenever they felt themselves fall. Sage dragged herself to her feet, stumbling across the room, then steadying herself on the wall. She smacked against the taut, grey material on the next roll of the floor, grabbing at it to keep herself upright.

Surprisingly, her fingers found a hold, a thin seam that ran down the wall of the dome. She hadn’t noticed it before, and she could barely see it now in the dim light, but she could definitely feel it. It feels like—she ran her fingers along it as her body swung around with the movement of the floor—it feels like a zip!

Hey, Not Adam called out behind her, but she ignored him, continuing to seek with her fingertips. Hey! he repeated. She could see him moving slowly in the shadows close behind her.

Following the line up to the top, she found what she sought. Tucked into a fold in the material was a clasp. She gripped it tight and began to pull, only to find a large, warm hand wrapped around hers, holding it in place.

She spun, looking up into the shadowy face of Not Adam. The rocking of the dome made him lean in close to her, his arm stretched up over her head, still holding her hand. Her mind flashed to her dream: the leering face of the doctor, his threats, his breath on her face, the way his body smelled . . .

She slammed outwards with her hands, pushing the man backwards, right as the floor rippled again, sending him flying across the room. He landed atop the cargo trunks, thankfully closed to protect him from the sharp equipment within.

Sage wasn’t sure which of them had released the zip in the end, but the moment the doorway pulled open, frigid ocean air burst into the capsule, buffeting the inner walls and making the whole dome rock even more. Salt stung her eyes as sea spray bombarded her while she struggled to find the clasp on the zip. Gripping with wet hands, she pulled the clasp upwards, fighting against the wind, which was determined to fling the flap of the entrance back open. The door securely closed, she leaned back against the wall, letting out a long, slow breath.

Ouch, the man grunted as he sat himself upright. He stayed where he was, assessing the woman opposite him. Would she lash out again? She had slid down the wall and sat with her knees tucked to her chest. She looked . . . sad. She looked sad and confused. Not like she was going to hit him again. Hey, he said, trying once more to get her attention. I think we might be on a boat.

She looked up then, as though suddenly aware of her surroundings. Boat? she mouthed, testing the word. The water and wind outside were slowly making sense.

He nodded. I think we’re going over waves, he told her. I’m sorry I grabbed you before. I just wanted to tell you before you opened the door. He paused. She was nodding, more to herself than him, he realised. That’s what I was trying to tell you . . . about the boat thing, he repeated, still unsure if she was listening. The waves feel pretty rough. I think we should stay inside until it dies down.

She got up then and moved across the small space, standing in front of him. He felt himself tense up. May I? she mouthed, pointing to the space on the box beside him. He nodded and she sat. She tapped his shoulder to make sure he was watching her face. I’m sorry, she told him silently, wishing she had a voice to say more. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t trying to push him. She was